The Royal Family, Photographs and Getting the Fuck out of Dodge—AKA Australia
Bet you thought I was going to say something terrible like Raph’s bus crashed on the way to Tamworth or the train to Sydney had an accident and there were no survivors? Nope. Nothing like that.
Raph made it back to Sydney, back to Mackellar House, and we threw ourselves into a highly erotic, thoroughly debauched long-distance relationship.
For four days, we flirted via text, Skype and—when we really wanted to tease the world with the awesomeness of our love—Facebook. We had Skype sex, cybersex, text sex. Yeah, it was as comical as it sounds. And boy, does that guy know how to text dirty. More than once, we even went the retro route and had phone sex. Four days of being with each other when we couldn’t be with each other.
It was awesome. We laughed, got schmaltzy often, shared our days’ highlights and existed together. When I described in great detail the diarrhea of one of my koala subjects, he didn’t stop me. In fact, he asked questions that made me think in ways I hadn’t before, which in turn opened up a whole new direction of research for my thesis.
Four days of goofy, elated, euphoric bliss. It seemed there was a magical element to that number with Raph and me. Four days in Mackellar House and four days now.
Which meant I shouldn’t have been surprised when those four days of joy ended with a jarring, cruel blow.
Returning to the guesthouse after a particularly devastating morning on the fifth day of fieldwork, I shuffled up the front porch steps, spirits low. A feral cat had attacked the koala colony during the night and I’d arrived at the site to find the gutted remains of a mother koala and her baby on the ground beneath her primary tree. I’d been researching them since the beginning; it was heart-wrenching to discover and even more heart-wrenching to document. The photos now in my smartphone’s Koala album would haunt me for a long time to come.
Dropping my backpack onto the desk under the window, I crossed the living area to the bathroom, desperate not only to wash up, but to find some way to revive my mood. Perhaps I’d ring Raph after a shower. If nothing else, the sound of his voice would soothe my frazzled nerves.
I took a long shower. Well, long for Kangaroo Creek, which meant I was under there for about seven minutes. Afterwards, I grabbed a towel and walked from the bathroom, drying myself off.
I froze when I found a petite, impeccably dressed, beautiful young woman perched on the edge of one of the sofas in the living room, looking at me.
Actually, the more accurate account of what I did was froze, let out a squeal and staggered back a step, flailing with the damp towel in an effort to cover my naked body.
The young woman—surely no older than eighteen—watched me the whole time, expression bored. “Good morning, Miss Rowling.”
She had an accent. A weird one. The kind the villains in those cheesy eighties’ spy movies have.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded with a glare over my shoulder, showing her my back as I knotted the towel around my body.
With a delicate sniff, she rose to her feet. Wow, did she move with graceful poise. “I am Natasha Sorensen. The Crown Princess of Delvania.”
I blinked. Gaped at her. Blinked again. My brain refused to process what she’d just said.
“You’re who?”
A faint smile curled her lips, one that said she thought I was a poor, pitiful child. Which would have been funny given that she was obviously younger than me, if the situation wasn’t so… unbelievable. And surreal.
“Her Royal Highness, Natasha Sorensen, the Crown Princess of Delvania. But you may call me Your Highness.”
My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “My what?”
The situation was starting to sink into my blindsided-brain. Raph’s sister’s sister-in-law was here. A female member of the royal family who’d tried to pay me off. A hot beat of anger throbbed in my temples. My gut clenched. So did my jaw.
“Your Highness,” she supplied, plucking at what I assumed was an inconvenient piece of Australian fluff that had the audacity to attach itself to her sleeve. “You may call me Your Highness.”
Narrowing my eyes, I straightened my shoulders and studied her. “How about I don’t, and you can say I did?”
The condescending smile on her lips faded. “I see. You are one of those girls, are you?”
“If by one of those girls,” I said, “you mean I’m not going to kowtow and grovel at the feet of some obscure European royal person who walks into my home unannounced and uninvited, or accept their degrading, reprehensible bribe, then yes, I am one of those girls.”
The princess wrinkled her perfect nose in another sniff. She flicked a quick glance over her shoulder, and for the first time I noticed she hadn’t come alone. Horn stood motionless just inside the front door, his expression dour, the bulge near his armpit obvious.
My stomach didn’t just clench at the sight of him, it cramped. “Guess I know now why you didn’t help me with the paparazzi, right?” I said, forcing my voice to be calm.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even move. He just stood there and oozed threatening menace.
Jesus, this just got… scary.
Flinty eyes returned to me, the princess raking me over from top to toe, and back to top again, with disdain. “I should have expected this from an American.”
Oh boy. She did not just say that, did she?
Grinding my teeth, I folded my arms over my chest and fixed her with a level glare. “Excuse me, Tash—” the look on her face when I called her Tash was priceless, “—but do you mind telling me why you’re here? Insulting me?”
The princess plucked at the cursed Australian fluff on her sleeve again. “I am here to clear up a matter of importance before you get hurt, Maci.”
“Oh, you’re here for me?” I poured every ounce of mocking sarcasm into my voice. “Golly, I don’t know what to say? How’s go away sound?”
With another sniff, the princess turned to Horn and clicked her fingers.
He moved. Fast. One second he was a statue at the door, the next he was beside her, dominating the room, flat eyes empty as they zeroed in on me.
I swallowed and took an involuntary step back. Damn it.
But he didn’t proceed farther than the princess’s side. Instead of coming for me, he offered her royal pain in the ass an iPad.
Without a word, she took it from his hand.
He gave a slight bow and returned to the door. Silent. I’d never seen the guy so scary.
Which probably explained why my heart was hammering and, goddamn it, my hand was shaking. Balling my fingers into a tight fist, I refused to break eye contact with the princess. Nor did I move to her when she hooked her index finger at me and ordered, “Come here.”
“Why don’t you come here?” I suggested.
She let out a sigh that clearly suggested I was the biggest inconvenience of her life, and crossed the room to where I stood. “I think you should see this,” she said, her accent thick. She really did sound like a Bond villain. She looked like she’d stepped from the pages of Vogue but sounded like a Bond villain. It messed with my head.
But no more than the image I saw on the iPad when she presented it to me. “Do you recognize the man in this photo?”
Raph stood on a lush green lawn dressed in the most exquisite tux I’ve ever seen, his dark hair slicked away from his face, his forehead nearly touching that of the breathtakingly gorgeous, willowy blonde who clung to his biceps, her eyes making love to his as she gazed up at him.
It was an image of two people perfectly matched in looks and sexual allure. Raph, and the very princess currently standing not a foot away from me.
“Perhaps this one?” the princess murmured, swiping her finger tipped with a blood-red nail over the screen to reveal another image of Raph with her. In this one, his hand was resting on the small of her back, his dimple flashing as he smiled at someone offscreen. The princess was pressing her body to his side. Like the previous image, she gazed up at him with open desire.
I swallowed. My mouth was dry. My gut churned.
“Or this one?” She gave another swipe of that blood-red-tipped finger, and there was another image of Raph with the princess, who looked more exquisite and fairytale-ish in every image. This time, however, Raph was wearing a pair of black board shorts that revealed his incredible body, as he stood beside a pool like those found only in the homes of gazillionaires. Or royalty.
The princess was nearby, delicately perched on the edge of the pool, looking back at him over her shoulder as he spoke to another man dressed in swimming attire. She wore a tiny white and blue bikini that showed off her perfect waist, perfect hips, perfect thighs and perfect breasts. There wasn’t an ounce of fat to be seen. For a surreal moment, I wondered if she was a robot specially designed for royal families to maintain the facade of bloodline supremacy.
And then I blinked and the image became blurred. Damn it, I was not going to cry in front of this little… girl. I wasn’t.
Driving my nails—not blood-red nor manicured—into my palms, I raised my eyes from the iPad and fixed them on the princess. “It’s Raph. Your point being?”
She arched an eyebrow. Bitch. That was my attack move. “Raph? How… cute. My point is Raphael has commitments to the Delvanian royal family, as you can see in these images. He has a place in the family. By my side, in case you didn’t notice that. Raphael and I have a… relationship.”
I refused to blink. I refused to draw breath. Instead, I lifted my own eyebrow. Two could play at that game. “Funny,” I said. “Relationship is exactly the word I would use to describe what Raph and I have. I’d also use the word love. You don’t intimidate me, bitch.”
She laughed. The Crown Princess of Delvania actually laughed at me. The most scornful, indulgent laugh I’d ever heard. “Oh, my dear Miss Rowling, I do admire your gumption.”
Yes, she truly did use the word gumption.
“But it is sorely wasted. Look at these images again. Look at Raphael. He is where he was meant to be. He may have been born a commoner on the wrong side of the world, but he was meant to be in Delvania. Our people adore his sister, and they already respect and admire him. He has been my consort to more than one official royal event, and each time he appears, his popularity increases. I’ve already expressed my desire for a future with him, and Mommy and Daddy, the king and queen, are more than happy to accommodate my desire.”
I laughed, holding her stare. “You call your mom and dad Mommy and Daddy?”
“Mommy and Daddy,” she went on, ice forming in her eyes, “are very happy to accommodate my desire to be with Raphael. As is Raphael.”
“Bullshit.”
The single word slipped from me, blunt and flat.
She lifted an immaculately waxed eyebrow. “Do you want more evidence?” She returned her attention to the iPad in her hand, and before I could stop myself, so did I. I wish I hadn’t.
With swipe after swipe of her finger, a parade of images of her and Raph scrolled across the screen.
Raph in a suit, the crown princess in a stylish gown, as they mounted steps to what appeared to be a castle.
Raph in polo clothes, atop a horse, the crown princess cheering him on from where she sat, ankles crossed on the hood of an expensive-looking SUV.
Raph in a tux, swirling the crown princess around, her ball gown showing off her petite waist and the creamy perfection of her shoulders and neck.
Raph and the crown princess.
Raph and the crown princess.
Raph and the crown princess.
I stared at them all, heart wild, head roaring.
“Do you see?” the princess said. “Do you see where he belongs?”
Drawing a slow breath, I looked up at her. “I see a guy in every frame interacting with those around him, no more and no less than he’s interacting with the pouty little peroxided-blonde who seems to have a fixation with lilac.” I arched my eyebrow again. Take that, Tashie. “In fact, you almost look—hmmm, how do I put this? You look a little desperate, given he only seemed to be really acknowledging your presence in the first photo. And that’s because, if I’m not mistaken, you’re treading on his foot, yes?”
The princess’s lips compressed to a thin line. Her eyes grew cold. “I have plans for Raphael, Miss Rowling,” she said, her voice as menacing as her stare. “Plans that don’t include looking after a woman who won’t be able to even dress herself soon, or go a day without popping pills to keep from drooling and lurching about like she is intoxicated. Or who will lose the ability to show any expression on her face.
“Imagine what that woman’s husband would feel like, wondering if his wife is grateful for him being in her life when she never gives him a smile. A woman whose own mother became a burden to those she loved with the very disease that is killing her. Raphael has no place in that life, Miss Rowling. That life is no life at all.” A slow smile curled the princess’s lips. “Is it?”
I slapped her.
I slapped the Crown Princess of Delvania’s royal face. Hard.
Horn was at her side in a blur, but I didn’t care. I was aching too much.
“Get out,” I ordered, my voice low.
The princess regarded me. She didn’t raise her hand to her cheek, where a bright-red imprint of my fingers now branded her flesh. I had to give it to her, she knew how to handle her shit.
“Get out,” I repeated. “Unless you want me to show you just what this here American can do when pissed. And trust me, it doesn’t just involve name-calling and hair-pulling.”
Horn’s nostrils flared. And yep, his hand went to the inside his jacket lapel. What kind of gun was he going to pull on me?
The princess halted him with a wave of her hand. She smiled at me, cold triumph in her eyes. “Do not bother, Nikolaj. I do believe I have achieved what I intended to.”
She raked another gaze over me, tearing me apart, and then with a slight dip of her head, she turned and walked to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Rowling,” she said as she stood on the threshold, her smile smug. Cruel. “I wish you luck with your future. ’Tis such a shame someone as beautiful as yourself is afflicted with such a humiliating, insidious sickness. I hope you battle it with dignity.”
And then she was gone. Through the door, down the steps. Gone.
Horn studied me, silent, that same unreadable expression on his face I’d grown to loathe. And then he too left. Without a word.
Leaving me alone in the guesthouse.
I lasted on my feet for approximately two seconds. Two seconds of stubborn refusal to surrender to the bone-deep tremors fighting to overwhelm me. Two seconds of sheer obstinate refusal to crumple under the weight of the princess’s hideous words.
Two seconds.
And then the weight of those hideous words crushed me and I dropped to the floor, tears like acid in my eyes.
Because everything she’d said, every strike she’d landed, had all driven home a truth I’d been too deliriously happy to accept.
Raph being with me only fucked up his future. My future was already set in stone, but his wasn’t. I had no right to mess up his future. No right to expect him to sacrifice it for me. And he would. I had no doubt about that. He would.
The cold, harsh truth lashed at me and I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew what the princess was doing, I knew she was emotionally manipulating me and I hated her for it. Hated her for the vile tactic.
Hated her even more for ripping from my face the rose-colored glasses I’d been wearing since Raph turned up in Gunnedah six days ago.
My gut churned. My heart—stupid, naïve, deluded organ that it was—broke.
As much as I hated to admit it, Natasha Sorensen, Crown Princess of the Brutal Truth, was correct. Raph didn’t deserve the life of looking after a burden. Not when he had a different life—the life captured in the images in her iPad—waiting for him. Not when he had a princess waiting for him.
An American with Parkinson’s disease, or a real-life European princess more stunning than I could ever hope to be. A life caring for a woman who would one day be incapable of climbing out of a chair without assistance, or a life of minders and nannies and personal cooks and luxury and parties and balls and… and…
I bit back a sob. I had to accept it. As much as I wanted to let Raph decide his future with me—a decision he’d already made clear—I had to stop being selfish.
Opening my eyes, I raised my head and ran my tear-stung stare around the guesthouse. Noted all the places Raph and I had made love. Imprinted on my psyche all the moments we’d shared here in two and a half short, glorious days together.
I took it all in, filled my soul with all the memories, all the moments. And then rose to my feet.
I had to get dressed. Then pack, drive up to the main house, and say my farewells to the Pattersons.
But first, I had to ring Qantas and change the return flight date on my ticket home. I had to get out of here. Out of Australia. Away from Raph. Now. Before I doomed him to a life burdened with me.
I loved him too much to curse him with that.
* * * *
Mrs. P was, to put it mildly, very surprised by my announcement. She frowned at me, worry etched on her normally reserved face.
“I’m not sure I understand what’s going on, Maci. Is everything okay? Has my son done something wrong?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or does this have something to do with the Crown Princess of Delvania’s unexpected visit? My daughter’s sister-in-law seemed quite interested in you, I must say. Asked quite a few questions about your relationship with Raphael.” She paused, a pointed expression on her face. “I must also say that I don’t think much of her.”
I shook my head, my smile wan. “No, Mrs. P, it doesn’t have anything to do with the princess.” Taking her hands in mine, I drew a slow breath, beginning the story I’d settled on during the short drive from the guesthouse to the main house. “My mom is unwell, she has a condition that requires constant care, and I need to return to her. My fieldwork is all but done. I have enough data now to complete my thesis without needing to constantly unsettle the koalas daily.”
I could tell my story didn’t convince her. The dubious frown she gave me spoke volumes. However, she didn’t put up an argument. Perhaps she could see it would serve no purpose.
Smoothing her arms around my shoulders, she hugged me with a gentle pressure. I must admit, I was shocked at the open display of affection. “You are a wonderful young woman, Maci. And good for Raphael. I’ve never seen him smile so often.”
I didn’t need to hear that. It didn’t help my state of mind at all. “Thank you,” I mumbled.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m sure we will be seeing you again soon.”
I had a hard freaking time holding back the damn tears at that. If only she really knew. Instead, I extracted myself from her hug and gave her what I hoped was a cheery, positive smile. “Definitely. I love this country too much to stay away.”
Her lips twitched and, for a brief second, I got a glimpse of the twin dimples in her cheeks. “Just this country?”
Before I could do something stupid like burst out in uncontrolled sobs, I dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Please say my goodbyes to Mr. Patterson,” I said as I bent to collect my backpack. “You have both been incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”
And that was it. I turned and left the house.
I found one of the workhands in the main barn and, putting on the best damsel-in-distress routine I could muster, asked him if he’d drive me into Gunnedah.
Thankfully, he’d been planning on doing a supply run later that day so I didn’t have to feel any guiltier than I already did.
Guilty about abandoning my studies.
Guilty about leaving Kangaroo Creek early.
Guilty about leaving without letting Raph know.
Guilt sucks.
And if right at this moment, you’re thinking I’m an idiot, trust me, I was thinking it five times as much. Fifty times as much. But you have to remember, I knew what was ahead of me. I’d seen it. I’d watched Dad cry when he didn’t think anyone could see him. I’d watched him stare at nothing for long moments when Mom was riding the emotional rollercoaster that is PD. I’d watched him take it all on, the helping, the bathing, the feeding… all of it, and I’d sworn to myself when I was diagnosed that I’d never put someone through the same thing.
An hour later, we were barreling along the dirt road headed for Gunnedah.
I sat in the passenger seat and watched the world blurring by. I know it was stupid, but I really was going to miss this place. It had reached into my soul and grabbed me. If life had dealt me a different hand, I could have seen myself spending the rest of my life here.
Not just because of Raph, but because it was peaceful. Real.
As we approached the Gunnedah town limits, I turned my cell phone off. It was a chicken move, but I did it anyway. It could stay off until I arrived home.
If I heard Raph’s voice now, I’d die even more inside.
I spent that night in a hotel in Tamworth, going over all the notes and data and research I’d collected during my stay here in Australia. I refused to let my mind turn to Raph. Every time I caught myself gazing at my phone, I’d give myself a stern talking to. Somewhere around two am, I gave up pretending I was concentrating on my thesis and meditated instead.
I’d like to say it helped.
When the sun broke the eastern sky a few hours later, my mind and body were more frazzled and unsettled than ever. Sleep deprivation will do that to a person, whether they suffer from Parkinson’s disease or not.
My train from Tamworth was due to depart for Sydney at ten am, less than five hours’ time.
I showered, washed my hair—it would be my last chance until I arrived in Plenty some twenty-nine hours later—packed up my stuff and sat on the edge of the bed.
My stomach churned. Perhaps I should go for a run? Do some tai chi?
Nervous energy charged through me, making me even more twitchy than normal. It wasn’t pretty, I can tell you.
I propelled myself from the bed, crossed to the desk, dropped into the chair and snatched up the hotel-supplied pen and notepad.
I stared at the blank sheet, flicking the pen up and down between my thumb and index finger. I had to do something.
Chest tight, I leaned forward and began to write.
Hey Heather, so it’s me.
By the time you get this I’ll be back in Plenty. I’m sorry for not saying goodbye in person or even by text or phone. As it turns out, I’m a bit of a chicken. Anyways, I wanted to let you know you are one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I also wanted to let you know I couldn’t have survived those first few days in Australia without you. You are the goofiest, funniest, loveliest and every other kind of positive “est” out there. Never change. Not for anyone. Promise me. And thank you. For making me feel so at home at Mackellar House and for being so incredible. If you’re ever in the States, I fully expect to see you at my front door, Tim Tams in hand.
By this stage, you’ve probably found out I left without saying goodbye to Raph as well. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say goodbye to him. Not just because it would have hurt too much, but because he wouldn’t have let me do it. He wouldn’t have let me go. I love him, Heather. More than I think I could ever express. When you see him, just let him know I never wanted to hurt him, ever, and that’s the reason I did what I did. He’ll be angry with me, really angry, but one day I know he’ll stop being angry with me and understand.
Do me a favor though. If you ever see Shelly White leaving his room, slap her for me, okay? Hard.
Oh, and one last thing, tell Brendon I think he’s the sexiest non-brother I’ve ever kissed. And the girl he followed to America doesn’t know what she missed out on.
I love you, woman.
Your friend, shakes and all,
M.
xoxo
I tore the top sheet from the pad, folded it and, needing to do something, left my room and walked to the hotel foyer. The woman at the reception desk gave me an envelope and, hand shaking too much—had I taken my meds? I couldn’t remember—I wrote Heather’s name and the address for Mackellar House on the front.
Given that it was Saturday and the Australian postal department doesn’t operate on the weekends, Heather would receive my note Wednesday.
By that time, I would be back in Plenty, back at my old college, back in my old life.
Damn, that thought made me miserable.
Deciding I couldn’t stand sitting in a hotel room any longer, I collected my stuff and caught a cab to the train station.
Ten hours later, I was in Sydney again. Two hours after that, I walked into Sydney International Airport.
Oh boy. I wasn’t prepared for what came next.
Not at all.
First, I saw a man I recognized standing near the men’s public restroom. The same men’s restroom Raph and I had our very first meeting.
What were the freaking odds?
He’d been one of the paparazzi that had hounded Raph at Triptych cafe and the ringleader of the horde of paparazzi that had swarmed us on the Mackellar House front lawn.
The second thing that happened, apart from my mouth going dry and my grip on my suitcase handle growing tight, was that he saw me.
Ravenous delight swept over his face. Seriously. The second his gaze fell on me, it was like a hungry pig had just spotted a bucket of swill. A triumphant, greedy spark lit up his eyes and, without a word, he raised the camera hanging around his neck and snapped a photo of me.
I flinched and then, head down, hurried in the opposite direction. Away from the Qantas check-in counters.
“Maci Rowling?”
Damn it. He was chasing me.
I heard feet pounding on the floor. Heard people letting out surprised grunts and displeased, “Hey, watch it, mate.” I didn’t want to risk looking over my shoulder to see if he was following me, but I did.
And he was.
The second our eyes connected, he took another photo. “Where’ve you been?” he called, grin wide. “Where’s Jones?”
Head spinning, I looked straight ahead again and kept walking. Faster.
I had no idea where I was going. I just couldn’t be here.
The paparazzo followed me. Of course. Holston, I think I’d heard the other pap call him outside Triptych. Apparently, he was quite notorious.
“Maci?” he shouted. “Hey, Maci? Is it true Jones dumped you for the Delvanian Crown Princess?”
Sick disbelief rolled through me. I scanned the crowded airport, desperate for something. Anything.
Spying a female restroom, I ran for it.
The paparazzo laughed. The smug and crude sound rose above the noise of the hundreds of people hurrying about the airport, scraping at my sanity as I rushed into the restroom.
Ignoring the curious glances of the women washing their hands and fixing their makeup, I leaned against the wall and sucked in breath after breath, my chest squeezed tight. Wow. That was horrible.
“You okay, miss?”
I started at the concerned voice to my right. Jerking up my head, I stared at the woman standing beside me. It took a perilous moment before my mind registered she was wearing an airport security uniform. For the duration of that perilous moment, I’d been very close to whacking my backpack into her with as much force as I could.
“Miss?”
Shaking my head, I hugged myself. I had to control the tremors in my hand somehow. “There’s a guy outside,” I said. Crap, even my voice was shaking. “He thinks I’m someone else. Someone famous. He’s trying to take photos of me and he chased me in here.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to decide what famous person I was, or what famous person I looked like. Apparently, she wasn’t interested in Raph’s celebrity status because no recognition crossed her face. With a serious nod and a stern expression, she placed her hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get rid of him, miss.”
She plucked the radio on her shoulder from its clip and raised it to her lips. “West, this is East. We’ve got a possible pap issue in sector four.”
West answered with, “Gotcha. On my way.”
East returned her radio to its clip, offered me a reassuring smile and patted my shoulder. “West will deal with the man. Do you want me to escort you to where you need to go? Check-in counter?”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I was going to be fine. But with the way the tremors were attacking my hand, my arm—hell, my whole body—I knew I wasn’t going to be fine. Not for a long time. “That would be wonderful,” I said. The smile I gave her was both sad and grateful.
She nodded. “Easy done.”
With a quick turn of her head, she activated her radio. “Got him, West?”
“It was that bastard, Holston,” West’s voice crackled through the speaker. “We’ve run him off. It’s clear now.”
East released her radio and, with another smile at me, took my backpack from my shoulder. “Come on, honey. You look like you really need to sit down. Let’s get you checked in, okay?”
And that was how I left Australia. Escorted to the check-in counter by three friendly security guards, East carrying my backpack, West carrying my check-in bag and West’s companion—God, wouldn’t it be awesome if his name was South?—pulling my suitcase along behind his massive frame.
They stayed with me until I went through the exit gates. They waved at me as I passed through the metal detectors without incident. It was surreal and stupidly touching and it filled my eyes with prickly tears that I blinked away with rapid determination.
I waved at them all, my throat thick. “Thank you,” I called back at them.
“You’re welcome,” East called back with a grin. “Take care, Miss Rowling. Tell Raphael Jones I think he’s cute in his tux.”
And with that—and a wink—East and her smiling companions turned and left.
I stood motionless, heart thumping in my tight, thick throat. She knew?
“Miss Rowling?”
The deep male voice on my right made me squeal. I spun around, staring up at another security guard. “Errr…”
He laughed. “I’m North. East suggested you might need… company.”
If I wasn’t in such an emotionally whacked-out state, I can honestly say I would have reveled in the celebrity treatment. Instead, I stared at my savior. “Are your names really North, South, East and West?”
He grinned. “Nah, we just call ourselves that after the areas we patrol. Be pretty awesome if they were our names though, ’eh? Would you like me to take your backpack?”
Wanting to laugh and cry, I nodded like a silent fool and let him take my backpack from my shoulder.
Suffice to say, I would never forget my departure from the country.
Nor would I forget my arrival in Plenty twenty-three hours later.
I climbed out of the taxi in front of Mom’s house. She had no clue I was coming. The afternoon winter sun teased me with a weak heat, nothing like the blazing Australian summer sun I’d spent almost nine weeks baking under, if you don’t count the three days of biblical rainfall in Gunnedah. I tugged my jacket closer to my neck, the shock of the severe change in temperature taking me by surprise. Man, I hadn’t realized how much I’d acclimatized to the weather in Australia until now.
Paying the cab driver—Jeremy Missen, who I’d gone to school with since elementary, until he’d been expelled for trying to grope our math teacher, Mr. Woodson. Ah, Plenty, you small town, you—I cast a gaze over my childhood home. Inside those walls, beyond that familiar front door with its cheery blue paint, was the rest of my life.
I’d spent the flight home planning out my future. I would move back home—did I really need to be at college anyway? I would look after Mom and study online. I could continue my global-warming research via the internet. Perhaps, as a way of staying connected to Raph—even if he didn’t know it—I’d look into finishing my degree through Sydney University’s online courses. I’d cancel Mom’s daily home-visit nurse, take care of her myself and maybe, just maybe, fool around with the notion of writing about my life with Parkinson’s disease.
Mom and I would become a part of Plenty’s folk history. The two Rowling women who trembled their way through life. We’d spend our nights watching that new Michael J. Fox sitcom, we’d bake, we’d laugh at the amount of flour we spilled while baking, we’d make sure we took our meds, and we’d never be a burden to anyone but each other.
I could live with that. Mom might get angry at me… okay, she would get angry at me for giving up on my future, but at least I wouldn’t be hurting anyone else. Right?
And when the time came, when it was just me, alone…
An icy wind blasted against me, whipping my coat around my knees, making me stumble a little to the right.
Letting out a wry chuckle, I regained my balance, picked up my luggage and began walking to my childhood home.
As a timely metaphor for what my life would be like when it was just me, that icy wind was quite apt. Cold and erratic.
I knocked on the door, the contact of wood on my knuckles both sharp and a little painful.
Mom answered a few heartbeats later.
“G’day, Mom,” I said with my best Australian accent. Wow, I sounded like Dad.
She gaped at me. “Maci?”
I nodded, smiled and then stepped across the threshold and hugged her. And then, before she could hug me back, I burst into tears.
They had to come eventually, right?
We talked for an hour. I refused to tell her why I was home early, assuring her I was fine, I was safe and not hurt in any way.
The look she gave me when I said that told me she didn’t believe me. “Does this have to do with Raphael Jones?” She narrowed her eyes. “Your cousin Nathan keeps sending me links to stories on the web about you. In fact, he sent me one only this morning. Said Jones had dumped you for a princess and you were heartbroken. There was even a photo of you at the Sydney airport, but I didn’t believe it. I told him you would have let me know if you were coming home.”
Miffed disappointment twisted her normally blank face. Remember, Parkinson’s does that to you eventually, robs your face of emotions. To see any kind of expression on Mom’s face was wonderful, even if it was one directed at my dickhead of a cousin. “Guess I owe the douche an apology.”
I laughed, my cheeks still warm from my tears—thank God, they’d finally stopped flowing. “Never apologize to Nathan, Mom. He follows you around at Christmas, shaking his hands and head.”
Mom arched her brow—see where I got that skill from? “Does he now? Hmm, I think I might have a word with Cousin Nathan sometime soon.” She leaned forward in her seat and placed her shaking hand against my cheek. “But not now. Now, I just want to enjoy my beautiful, stubborn, secretive daughter being home with me.”
I closed my eyes and turned my face to her palm.
Her familiar smells, her touch… it was all so wonderful. Comforting. So why did I feel so empty? So lost?
“How long are you home for?” she asked when I opened my eyes and smiled at her.
“Think I might stay for good.”
She studied me. “Is that so?”
I nodded.
With a low hmmm that made me think of Mrs. P, she pushed herself, oh so slowly from her chair and shuffled toward the kitchen. “How about you go have a shower while I make us some afternoon tea? Isn’t that what they call it over there?”
Rising to my own feet, I let out a tired laugh. “It is. And I will.”
I showered. It felt wrong to make it a long one. I’d spent so many weeks washing myself in under five minutes that it felt indulgent to linger any longer. Shutting off the water, I stepped from the shower and then dragged my feet to my old room, drying myself as I went. Oh man, I was tired.
Jet lagged and exhausted.
I entered my old bedroom, my gaze sweeping over the familiar furniture, posters, books and, unable to stand on my feet any longer, flopped face first onto my bed.
I’d just close my eyes for a second. Just a second. While Mom served up what would no doubt be a batch of her famous cookies and a glass of milk. She was a traditionalist, my mom. Milk and cookies were a staple not to be cast aside.
I lay on my bed, sinking into the soft mattress, growing heavier. Eyes closed, I let myself wonder what Raph was doing. For a tormenting moment, I wondered if he was missing me, thinking about me. Angry at me.
And then I was asleep.
A pale light washing against my eyelids woke me sometime later. I squinted at the sun streaming through a curtained window, utterly disorientated. Where was I? Where was Raph? Why was it so cold?
My brain was fuzzy. Connections weren’t being made. I gazed around the room, my vision blurred with groggy sleep.
It wasn’t until I saw the Thor movie poster pinned to the wall, with its intimidating image of Chris Hemsworth in menacing Asgardian-God pose, that my brain finally recalled where I was.
A cold fist slammed into my belly, an emotional blow so powerful it felt like a physical strike.
I was home. In Plenty. On the other side of the world from Raph. I’d come home yesterday, sobbed in my mom’s arms, showered and then collapsed on my old bed.
Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I let my gaze drift around my room, reacquainting myself with its contents as the tight chill in my soul seeped into my heart. I should be happy. I’d made the choice to return, after all. This was my home. A lifetime of happy laughter and love were inside these walls.
Something soft at my elbow caught my attention and I looked down. At some stage during my catatonic slumber, Mom had tucked me into bed and, like she used to when I was a little girl, placed Mr. Sprinkles in my arms.
With a wry sigh, I picked up the purple and green stuffed hippopotamus I’d cuddled in bed since I was four, and pressed my face to its soft side. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, Mr. Sprinkles,” I murmured against the worn fabric.
I breathed in Mr. Sprinkles’ familiar, comforting smell, squeezed my eyes shut and then climbed from the bed.
I was reminded very quickly just how cold Plenty, Ohio, mornings were in mid-April, especially when you were buck naked and still accustomed to Australian weather.
Skin breaking out in gooseflesh, I scanned my room for something to wear. A warm beat of love throbbed in my heart when I discovered Mom had not only unpacked my suitcase while I slept, but laid out fresh clothes for me—Plenty-appropriate clothes, no less—and plugged my iPhone into its charging dock on my desk.
I snatched up my old cheerleading squad sweats waiting for me on the back of my chair—Go Plenty Woodchucks—dressed, and then hovered my hand over my cell.
It was still turned off.
If I turned it on, how many calls from Raph would I find? How many text messages?
What if I found none?
My fingers trembled, telling me loud and clear my meds were long overdue. I stared at the black screen of my cell for a moment and then turned away.
I wasn’t ready for what awaited me on it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Perhaps the first thing I needed to do tomorrow was buy a new phone?
Shaking my head at how pathetic I was, I dragged my fingers through my hair, rubbed at my face with my hands a few times, and walked out of my room.
Low murmurings from the living room told me Mom was either talking to someone or watching the television. Maybe the Today show.
I shuffled down the hallway and into the living room, all too aware I was still exhausted and quite trembly. I needed coffee. Coffee, meds, bacon, maple syrup, some hash browns and more coff—
I froze.
Raphael Jones gazed at me from the sofa.
“What?” I whispered.
“This lovely young man—” Mom beamed at me from Raph’s side, a steaming coffee mug in her hand, “—seems to have come a long way to discuss something with you, Bear.”
I stared at him. “W-what?” I whispered again. I’d have liked to blame sleep deprivation and jet lag for my sudden inability to say anything but that one word, but as I’d just woken from over twelve hours of sleep, that excuse wasn’t going to cut it.
Raph regarded me, his expression unreadable. “Hello, American girl.”
At the sound of his voice, at the sound of his accent, every fiber of my body went into meltdown. “Raph?”
“He tells me, Bear,” my mom went on, the smile in her voice evident, “that he’s deeply in love with you.”
I gaped at Raph. How did he get here? God, did his mom call him the second I left Kangaroo Creek?
He studied me, not moving, not speaking. Just watching me.
“He also says,” Mom continued, “you’re incredibly stubborn, obstinate and a… what did you call her, Raphael?”
Raph’s eyes held mine. The corners of his mouth twitched. A little. “A pain in my arse, Mrs. Rowling.”
“A pain in his ass,” Mom repeated. “Although he says ass much sexier than me. In fact, he says it the same way your dad did. Arse.”
I gaped some more. At her. At Raph.
“Is that right, Maci?” Mom continued. “Are you a stubborn, obstinate pain in his arse?”
The thick lump in my throat didn’t dislodge when I swallowed. Nor did my heart stop trying to hammer its way out of my body.
I couldn’t stop staring at him.
His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, his jeans were crumpled, his shirt creased. He looked terrible. As if he hadn’t slept for days, nor had a shower or changed his clothes. In fact, he looked wretched. Distressed.
Determined. Dogged.
And here. So here. Like he always said he would be—here with me.
God, he’d followed me to the other side of the world. When I was trying to let him be free of me, he’d left Australia and followed me to the other side of the world.
“Raph?” I rasped, the sound of his name on my lips wonderful. “What are you—”
“Doing here?” he finished for me. “Had no other choice, did I? The woman I love buggered off on me without a word.”
He moved then. Without warning, he rose to his feet and was standing in front of me, right there in front of me. So close I could feel his heat seeping into my body. So close I could smell his distinct scent in each shallow breath I pulled. So close our knees brushed.
“Care to explain, Maci?” His deep voice with its sexy accent caressed my senses. Drove me crazy. “Care to give me a reason for leaving Australia like you did?”
I swallowed. “The Crown Princess of Delvania.”
Raph’s eyebrows shot up. “The who?”
“The Crown Princess of Delvania.” I caught my bottom lip with my teeth. The thought of all those images she’d shown me twisted my chest. “I saw… The princess came to see me at Kangaroo Creek and showed me… And I know you don’t love her. I’m not jealous,” I hastened to clarify. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him. “Honest. But she’s a princess. And she doesn’t…”
I stopped. The rest of the sentence didn’t want to come. Wouldn’t come.
Raph placed a finger under my chin and, with that same soft pressure, made me look up at him again. “Have Parkinson’s?”
I nodded with a slight dip of my head and closed my eyes.
“The Crown Princess of Delvania is a snobby, pretentious, spoilt little cow with an ego bigger than Ayres Rock. Worse still, she doesn’t believe in global warming.”
Opening my eyes, I frowned up at him. “You don’t believe in global warming,” I pointed out. “At least, not its effect on koalas.”
He chuckled, trailing his thumb over my lip. “But you do. And a couple has to have something to argue about into their twilight years, right?”
I shook my head. “You need to think about this, Raph,” I said. “You can’t be romantic. You need to be realistic. Think about what being with a princess could be like. And now think about what life will be like with—”
“Bloody hell, woman,” he murmured, cutting me off. “I just flew halfway ’round the bloody world to make you realize I’m not going anywhere.”
I swallowed. “You did.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you love me?”
He gazed into my eyes, his arms wrapping tightly around me. “And?”
And it was then I realized it was more. He was never going to give up on me. I’d shown him my worst. I’d shown him the coward I could be. I’d shown him my deepest fears, and he was here, in Plenty. He was never going to give up on me.
And God, I loved him for that. More than I could ever express.
No, I could express it.
I smiled up at him. “I believe in you, Raph. And because of you, I believe in me. I trust you like you trust me. And I know I’ve probably made you question that trust with the ridiculous way I’ve been behaving, and you have every right to be furious at me, but I know, I really know, you will never give up on me.”
“I won’t, Maci,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Heart thumping fast, I drew a slow breath. “And I promise I will never give up on you. Never ever again.”
A soft, lopsided grin pulled at his lips. His dimple flashed at me from his right cheek. “I know you won’t.” He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “Now will you shut up about some boring princess, tell me that you love me and let me kiss you? Or do I have to spank you, right here in front of your—”
I kissed him. It was, after all, the only way to shut him up. And to let him know he was right. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was mine and I was his and that’s the way it was. I’d even shake on it. See what I did there?
“That’s my girl,” I heard Mom say behind him with a delighted laugh as Raph wrapped his arms around me and drew me close. “Told you Australian men really know how to make you feel alive.”